


Silence

by tanks4thememory



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:59:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanks4thememory/pseuds/tanks4thememory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After cycles of silence, someone comes calling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

_"Sticks and stones are hard on bones_  
_Aimed with angry art,_  
_Words can sting like anything_  
_But silence breaks the heart."_  
_~Phyllis McGinley, "Ballade of Lost Objects," 1954_

A dark form lay sprawled over a darker rock, unmoving. Circuits dim, black armor covered in blacker sludge. The only obvious indication that the program still lived was that he hadn’t yet derezzed.

 

Then, abruptly, the figure spasmed, limbs twitching erratically, a low, grating purr emanating from somewhere deep in his core.  He shuddered, circuits flickering fitfully from pale blue to dull orange and back beneath the layer of grime, as he tried to pull himself further up onto the mostly flat rock where the Sea had deposited him.  It was a struggle, though; his limbs fought his commands, and eventually he wound up just sprawled more fully on the rock, twitching slightly as the noise ceaselessly rumbled out from him.

 

Weakened fingers curled into claw shapes, trembling as they scraped uselessly over the surface of the damp rock. The noise hitched. Circuits flickered. He wanted to scream- _“Finish the game!”/Ifightfor_ \- but couldn’t. His vocal subroutines refused to function.

_~“Scream all you like, Tron.”~_

There was no one to hear him anyway. There never was.

 

***************************************

 

Not for the first time, Alan Bradley scowled at the touch screen console before him. Flynn’s system. Where Flynn had been all this time, both a world away and right under their noses. How in the hell had they missed that door?

 

And more importantly, what in the hell had Flynn been _thinking_? Repeatedly digitizing himself without any sort of backup on the outside had to be the single most idiotic thing the man had ever done. No, scratch that. Not _telling_ them about his little secret project was the most idiotic thing; the repeated self-digitization was a close second, though.

 

He sighed. Closed his eyes for a moment. Took a deep breath of still musty air and let it out. There would be time later to spend on regrets and what might have beens. Right now? There was work to do. He raised his hands to the keyboard.

 

**[Query: Location- Program TRON-JA307020]**

 

The faintest of pauses, before a reply came back.

 

**[Error: Bad command or filename]**

 

Well… disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Now, what was it Sam had said Clu had changed Tron’s name to?

 

**[Query: Location- Program RINZLER-JA307020**

**Error: Bad command or filename.**

**Query: Location- Program RINZLER-020703AJ**

**Error: Bad command or filename.**

**Query…]**

 

***********************************

 

The figure lay on the rock where he had first washed up. Though now he was curled up instead of sprawled, curled around himself in a vain attempt to make the hurting stop. Dim circuits still flickered erratically orange-blue-orange and back as directive conflict clawed at his code, leaving him paralyzed even as it stuttered out of him in an increasingly harsh grating noise, hitching and catching as his systems fought themselves.

 

- _fightfor/serve/Users/CLU/betrayer/programmer/perfect/independtent/ERROR ERROR ERROR_ -

 

The figure managed a whimper, but that only made it hurt worse, because voice was forbidden, and it just added another feedback loop to the mess. And his discs were _gone_ and CLU was _gone_ and the Users were _gone_ and the conflict _hurt_ and there was no one to _fix_ it, and he had to _move_ but he couldn’t but he _had to_ but he _couldn’t_ -

 

The glitching program didn’t even register the location ping.

 

********************************

 

It had taken 27 different rearrangements of letters and numbers before Alan located his program. Or he thought it was his program anyway. The registry entry came back corrupted. Unsurprising, as it placed Tron just outside a corrupted chunk of the system BIOS. ‘ _The Sea,_ ’ Alan thought, recalling Sam’s description of the system and the Sea, poisoned to prevent the birth of any new ISOs.

Whatever the case though, the corruption was preventing him from accessing his program.  At least, it was from here. He frowned, looking over his shoulder at the laser. This was probably a Flynn-level stupid move, but it seemed he had little choice. Unlike Flynn, though, he had a backup plan.

 

He pulled out his phone and typed in a brief message explaining the situation and giving instructions on what to do to retrieve him, then set it for delayed sending. If he didn’t return from the Grid in under an hour, the message would be simultaneously delivered to Sam, Quorra, Lora, and Roy. One of them was bound to be able to keep their heads long enough to follow the instructions. Probably Lora, he thought with a brief, fond smile; she had enough sense for three people most of the time.

 

He set the phone on the dusty couch, well out of the way of the laser and the console that contained the Grid, before returning to his previous position. Though this time he didn’t bother sitting down as he brought up laser control.

 

**[Aperture clear? Yes/No**

**Y]**

 

***********************************

 

The light was what first drew the program out of the haze of pain and conflict. Pure white, radiant with power. A beacon in the distance, shining out over the poisoned Sea.

 

There was something very important about that light. It called to him, spoke of something beyond the rocks, the Sea, and the pain. But he couldn’t process what it was and conflict hurt worse when he tried.

 

- _Portal/gateway/lock/transmission/User/Programmer/betrayer/Flynn GO!/lost/failure/falling/failure FAILURE/friend/betrayer/CLU/Flynn/ERROR ERROR_ -

 

It _hurt_. It hurt so much, and he was so, so tired. He shuddered as functions began shutting down, glitching and underpowered. It wouldn’t hurt for much longer…

 

**************************************

 

Alan almost immediately regretted not sitting down before activating the laser as he stumbled back into the chair at the desk on the other end. That… was a rush.

 

He blinked at his surroundings a few times. It was darker, neater. Less dusty and cluttered. But in basic form and layout it was a carbon copy of the room he’d just left, picked out in steel and glass and glowing stripes of light.

 

It had worked. He was on the Grid. He stood carefully, walking up the stairs and out through the double doors. He glanced up at the sign above them. _Flynn’s_. It figured.

 

There would be time to sight-see later though. For now, he had more important things on his mind. With mingled purpose and caution, he started down the street; things seemed fairly quiet here, but there was no telling what the current state of things was on the Grid as a whole. And Sam’s tale of being nabbed by menacing masked figures and hauled off to fight for his life in gladiatorial combat was fresh in Alan’s mind.

 

But fortunately, a plan was too. Step one, find some appropriate clothing and equipment so he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb and could get somewhere at faster than a walking pace. Step two, find a map. And step three, find his program.

 

He just hoped he wouldn’t be too late.

 

****************************************

 

The distant light still glowed, but he couldn’t focus on it. Couldn’t focus on anything. Even the noise that grated out of him, rough and harsh and hitching more often now. Functions and perceptions dulled as power faded.

 

He was drifting, drifting in a fog of errors and pain and conflict, but there was even disconnect from that. Sensors and feeds were all gone. Silent. And the sound of wind and wave melded into indiscernible white noise.  Helmet shifted against rock. But even the rock was becoming insubstantial in his perceptions.

 

Maybe his systems were losing cohesion. Or maybe the Grid was derezzing around him. He found it difficult to care which.

 

*****************************************

 

It had taken Alan longer than he’d hoped to secure what he needed. The disc and clothing was the easy part. Turns out the Sirens were willing to outfit most anyone, even if Alan thought his cheeks might have turned permanently red at their… methods. He really hoped the laser would be able to recreate his old clothing when he returned to his own world; he’d rather liked that suit.

 

The map and other equipment were somewhat harder, the programs in charge of the vehicle bays much less cooperative than the Sirens had been. After what felt like several hours of debate, and explanations that, _yes_ he was really a User, and _no_ , his permissions weren’t faked, and no he didn’t have his own damn baton yet and didn’t know how to fly even if he had had one, and _he didn’t have time for this_ he had been grudgingly allowed to sign out a lightrunner.

 

About halfway through the negotiations, it had occurred to Alan that he could simply force the program to comply. Or even just step in and take what he wanted. He was a User after all, and with CLU no longer a factor, there was really no force on the Grid that could stop a User on a mission. He’d banished the thought outright. Thinking like that was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place, and besides it just struck him as _wrong_ on several levels. If he was going to do this, he would do it _right_.

 

All that was immaterial though, as he pulled his borrowed lightrunner to a stop on the cliff overlooking the dark beach. Below were the coordinates provided by the vehicle’s onboard map, though from here, he’d have to go on foot. No way the vehicle could get down there.

 

But he found he didn’t need the map any more. Something was guiding him, a thin thread of urgency and connection drawing him on as he made his way as quickly as he safely could down the steep path. ‘ _I’m coming, just hold on a little longer. Just hold on…_ ’

 

*********************************************

 

He could barely sense it. Could barely sense anything. But the thread of _urgent/familiar_ wound its way through the haze and around his fractured core where instinct latched onto it. It wouldn’t hold for long. There was no conscious processing; he was almost past that at this point. But something both deep and distant said ‘ _Hold on_ ’ so he held on. Though he knew he wouldn’t be able to much longer.

 

Then suddenly… _energy_. It washed over him, warm and pure and filling every circuit with life. Sensors rebooted. The world solidified again.  Someone was holding him, supporting him against their body, solid and _warm_ in a way no program could really be. He couldn’t/could recall someone who felt like that, but this one was different, and the warmth radiated and the sensation of _right/safe/familiar_ kept even the glitches and conflict temporarily quiet.

 

A gentle touch to the back of his neck and his helmet retracted with a damaged clatter. He looked up at the man holding him, the gray hair and lined skin above pure white circuits, white like the light in the distance, and though he didn’t know how, he _knew_. “User…”

 

Alan smiled. He had to swallow once so his own voice wouldn’t catch as much as his program’s. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m here. “ He took a deep breath, exhaled with a soft sigh. “And it’s gonna be alright.”


End file.
